Loss of Control
by EveryStringAttached
Summary: Sort of a post-ep for s5 episode Recoil. Rated M for language and a little bit of violence. Ziva thought she knew what she wanted, but she realises she doesn't. Will she talk to the one person she really needs?


_A/N: This is from Ziv'as POV. The next chapter will be from Tony's POV I think. This is my second sort of post-ep for 'Recoil'. Well not so much a post-ep but a re-write of the ending._

_This is written for Emily, thank you so much for the past couple of days._

_Oh, for readers of my other fic Memories and Demons, my beta has had to disappear for a while so if anyone would like to beta the next couple of chapters for me please yell :)_

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He wants you, you can tell as his lips come crashing onto yours. You reciprocate, until he pushes you against the wall, his hands roaming up the back of your shirt. Even through the alcoholic haze you realised he's controlling you, and you know that this isn't what you thought you needed.

"Michael," you say as you break contact with his mouth and try to push yourself further back to the wall. Further away from the radiating heat of his body. He either ignores you or doesn't hear you and leans down to nip the skin on your collarbone.

"Michael," you repeat his name, as you push him away, "Stop."

He looks at you, obviously frustrated, "Oh come on Ziva, I thought you wanted this," he says, before leaning into you again.

This time you stop him, and hold his arm, "I did, I don't know," you admit and you flinch involuntarily as his fingers close around your arm.

"Well why don't we just make sure," he says, a lopsided grin on his face. Suddenly you find him repulsive.

He tightens his grip around the arm that you're holding him with and you can feel it's going to bruise. You let him lean in closer again before you start to dig your nails into his arm.

"No," you say, trying to sound defiant even though your voice is wobbling, "I said stop."

He shakes you off and for a moment you think he's going to hit you. You bring your arms up in a defensive pose; you're not willing to let someone get the better of you again.

Laughing, he reaches down to pick up his jacket, "You're pathetic," he says before turning for the door. You lower you arms slowly and let out a breath you didn't know you had been holding.

He turns before you realise it, and your lethargic reflexes are too slow to catch up. He grabs your hair roughly and pushes you back, placing an unwelcome kiss on your mouth.

"You fucking frigid bitch," he shouts, "You led me on, you fucking whore," he continues his verbal assault, but he doesn't realise that it has given you time to get to your senses.

He lets out a sharp yelp as you bring you knee up to his groin. He pulls away quickly and it gives you the chance to reach for your gun.

By the time he stands up again you have the gun trained on the center of his chest.

"Get out," you say, knowing you're now back in control.

He seems rooted to the spot as he stares at you, his eyes moving rapidly from the gun, to you, then back to the gun again.

"I said get out!" you shout, cocking the gun and taking a step closer to him.

He backs out slowly to the door, and you don't drop the gun even when he turns to open the door.

"You are fucking insane," he remarks as he slams the door shut.

You let out a ragged sigh as you realise you were in danger for the second time in as many days. That voice runs through your head again, but it's not the same as before. It's your father telling you that America has made you soft, that all you've learnt has been lost.

It's then that the bile starts to rise in your throat, and you only just make it to the bathroom in time. There's not much in your stomach to come up but the alcohol, still the vomiting makes your body ache all over.

As you sit hunched over the toilet bowl you realise you are shaking. With rage? Anger? Fear? For the first time in a long time you're confused, the control you worked so hard to keep all these years is slipping through your fingers. All because you took too long to react. You let him corner you. You gave him a chance and he nearly took it.

It's when you try to stand again that you really feel the effect of the alcohol. You stumble to the shower and turn it on. Hot. Steaming hot. So you can wash away everything, the past day's events, Michael's smell and the vomit in your hair. You have an overwhelming urge to wash it all away.

The water stings as you step into the shower, the steaming droplets burning your flesh, but you hold yourself under it, grateful for a feeling that you have some control over. You quickly feel the combined effects of the hot water and the alcohol as the room starts to spin around you and you have to grab onto the side of the shower to ease yourself down into a sitting position.

Then the tears come, the tears you have been trying so hard to keep from falling run like a flood down your cheeks. A sob catches in your throat as you struggle against your emotions, it's a fight you know you can't win, and these tears have been long overdue.

You pull your knees up to your chest and sit, still in the steaming hot shower spray and sob, your tears mixing with the hot water that runs down your face.

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_A/N- I'd appreciate some reviews :) I'm in a bit of a dark and twisty mood myself, just like dark and twisty Ziva in Recoil. Who else loved her hair?_

_LeA x_


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